Burns.
As if he’d been in some terrible fire.
“Will you do this?” the angel asked.
And the devils complied, the shape of her body beginning to change, to take on the attributes of one that could transport them to the location the angel was seeking.
“Show me where!” a demon bellowed from her mouth, multiple hairs like tendrils squirming up from her throat, reaching for the angel with quivering tips.
The angel bent its body toward the writhing filaments, allowing them to caress his scarred, alabaster flesh.
She needed to know the being’s story.
She needed to know what he truly was.
Theo allowed her hold upon her psychic essence to loosen, a little bit more of her humanity that she had been desperately clinging to being let go as she merged even more of herself with the demonic.
She needed to know what they knew. To see what they saw.
Theo was amongst the throng now, shoulder to shoulder with the most foul of them all.
She felt it at once, and reacted, looking down to see that Billy Sharp was now pressed tightly against her, his tiny, cold hand now nestled within hers.
“That’s it,” he comforted her. “Soon you’ll know everything that we do.”
She could not respond, too horrified by her actions.
Her body had changed yet again, thick flaps of skin growing out from beneath her arms. She resembled an enormous bat as she extended her wingspan to its full extent.
The being was waiting as she came toward him, taking him into what appeared to be a loving embrace.
The two merging together. Becoming as one.
As they moved from this place.
To another.
• • •
John watched Nicole, impressed with just how much she’d been forced to mature in just a brief span of time.
She appeared asleep, but then her green eyes opened, and she began to draw again, getting all the details of the map she’d been shown by the mortician ghost back at the funeral home.
The plane bumped a bit in turbulence, and Nicole swore like a longshoreman, erasing the errant line and beginning to draw again.
They had an idea of the vicinity that they were traveling to, and got a Coalition plane into the air as quickly as they could.
“How is she doing?” Brenna asked, Styrofoam cup of coffee in each hand. She handed him one.
“Good,” he said. “Thanks.”
“And where did you two meet again?”
“Long story,” John said. “But we’re both after the same guy.”
“Fritz?”
“That’s the one.”
They watched as Griffin came over to where Nicole sat with a Coalition map of supposed paranormal hot spots.
“What do you think of him?” Brenna asked.
John sipped his coffee.
“He’s Coalition,” John said. “That means he’s on our side. Right?”
She looked at him, the beats in the amount of time before she answered triggering an alarm.
“Right.”
“Is there something you want to discuss with me, Agent Isabel?” John asked.
“Nothing right now,” she answered, both of them watching the interaction between Nicole and Griffin. “Saw the way the Coalition handled the situation at the school the other day and feel a little concerned,” she said.
John looked at her, attempting to read her expression. He trusted Brenna, there was something about the woman that lent itself to those feelings. If she was feeling concerned, then perhaps he needed to as well.
“Hey, guys,” Griffin called to them. “I think we might have something.”
John made a mental note to discuss this further with her as they left their seats, going to the small table where Nicole and Griffin were sitting.
“What have you got?” John asked.
“We’ve pretty much narrowed it down to this area,” Griffin said. “Pacific Northwest,” he said. “This area right here.” He’d circled a section on the map in red Sharpie.
“Anything special about it?” Brenna asked, holding her cup close to her mouth.
“Funny you should ask,” Griffin said as he reached over, pulling a laptop that they’d found on the plane over to them. He hunted and pecked with his fingers.
“You could have told me what you were looking for, and we’d be in by now,” Nicole said, disgusted by his lack of skill on the computer.
Griffin just gave her a sideways glance that said much more than words could have likely expressed.
He’d gotten into the Coalition database, pulling up information on a specific location.
“Scopa House,” John said, leaning forward to read. “Home base of the Scopa Brotherhood, started by multimillionaire industrialist, Randolph Scopa. Also the site of a mass suicide. Over fifty people took their lives there in what many believed was some sort of ritual sacrifice.”
“What did they off themselves for exactly?” Nicole wanted to know.
John shrugged. “Nobody was ever really able to figure it out, the investigating team said that their findings were completely inconclusive.”
“I guess whatever they were up to didn’t work,” Griffin said. “Sucked to be them.”
“Scroll to the next page,” John said. “Curious as to who was on the investigating team.”
John saw the names, eyes fixed to one in particular.
“Huh,” he said. “Elijah was the team leader. We should reach out to him to see what he knows.”
“What we know is that Fritz and the Cardinal are heading there,” Nicole said. “So I’m guessing that that means we’re heading there, too.”
Brenna had gone off with her phone and had returned.
“Just put a call into Elijah,” she said. “Told him to call us back with anything he might have on Scopa House.”
“Good,” John said. “A ritual sacrifice is usually for the purpose of something,” he said. “Find it hard to believe that there wasn’t at least something attributed.”
Griffin was still on the page, reading.
“Says here that the Coalition purchased the property not long after and still maintains ownership today,” he said.
“Interesting,” John said.
“Maybe they’re still waiting,” Nicole said. John looked at her, and she shrugged. “Maybe what was supposed to happen has just taken awhile.”
John thought of Fritz and the Cardinal, the map, the key, and the Vessel.
Maybe Nicole was right.
Maybe things just needed some time to come together.
And maybe the time for happenings was now.
• • •
The helicopter touched down with a vibrating thud, everyone’s eyes darting around the belly of the craft, acknowledging to one another that they had indeed arrived.
That things were about to become very real.
Elijah imagined that they had landed where the previous mission had landed: an enormous open parcel of land that had been used exclusively for parties throughout seasons.
Randolph Scopa loved a party and would often open up his extravaganzas to the public. It was believed that this was where he recruited many of the followers for his Brotherhood, preaching to them his beliefs about a glorious world beyond the veil that could be reached by worship and ritual sacrifice.
“This is it?” Emma Rose asked, her voice an excited whisper.
“This is it,” Elijah said, unsnapping his safety belt, then reaching across to help the girl with hers.
The Coalition team was suiting up, gathering the supplies they would need. Mr. Miller approached, waiting to be acknowledged.
“Mr. Miller,” Elijah said. “What can I do for you?”
“A moment of your time, sir
?” he asked, motioning for Elijah to step closer for privacy.
He could understand the team leader’s not wanting to speak in front of the girl, her not being a part of the Coalition and all. For the briefest of moments, he pondered the idea of her joining his team, then regretted the thought when realizing that there was a chance that she might not survive this mission.
That none of them might live to see another dawn.
“Yes, Mr. Miller?”
“The wards and barriers set up around the mansion,” he said. “Do you think it’s safe to disassemble them? To take them down?”
The barriers had been set in place as soon as the first mission had been accomplished to keep any curious onlookers away. What had occurred inside would have most certainly left behind residual energies, and the Coalition did not want to be responsible for the fallout.
But, for whatever was to occur, the barriers had to be taken down.
“Take them down, Mr. Miller,” he said. “I believe we’ll be fine until we finish our investigation.”
“Very good, sir,” Miller said, going to join the others.
The others.
Elijah watched the team of seven preparing for the mission. They had no idea what they would be facing inside Scopa House.
None of them did.
“Elijah?” the girl called to him. He looked over to see her standing at the door, ready to depart. “Can I see?”
He walked over and hit the controls to open the hatch, the platform extending outward onto the overgrown section of lawn.
Elijah felt it almost immediately as they descended the ramp, exiting the belly of the transport, to stand in the unkempt, tall grass and stare at the mansion called Scopa House.
“Yes,” Emma Rose said softly to herself, drawn through the high grass toward the structure. “I know this place.”
As you should, Elijah thought, quickening his pace to join her.
It is where you were born.
23
Fritz had always known that he would eventually end up going home.
It had been a long time since he’d been at Scopa House.
Driving through the night, his thoughts began to wander, stirring up long-dormant memories from the deepest part of his mind, like layers of sediment from the bottom of a lake.
He distinctly remembered when Randolph Scopa had found him, taking him from the orphanage, adopting him, but allowing him to keep his family name of Gorham.
Scopa House had been what he’d always imagined Heaven to be.
But from his mentor he learned of other Heavens, places beyond the mortal confines that embraced the ways of pleasure and pain.
His new father had explained to him that he was special, that at the orphanage he was surrounded by the most beautiful of lights that told him that Fritz was the one.
The one who should receive his gift.
Fritz remembered how honored he’d been. Even after the first of the treatments that began the process of transforming his body, he still had been so very proud of himself.
He was special, and he would be even more special if he survived the process.
Fritz’s muscles twitched as he drove, remembering the procedures that had transformed him: injections as well as surgeries. His young body only being given just enough time to heal before being subjected to the next phase of his evolution.
To be perfectly honest, on many an occasion during that time, he had wanted to die. Then it hadn’t mattered how special he was, only that the agony stopped.
And just when he thought that he couldn’t stand it anymore . . .
“Watch the road!” the Cardinal barked, and Fritz’s eyes shot open wider, the fatigue he was experiencing likely being caused by the healing process his body was still undergoing.
He was going to need to feed again soon.
Fritz glanced briefly over to the demon lord to see the skin cloak that it wore was lit up and pulsing with an eerie incandescence.
“So close,” the Cardinal murmured, caressing the patchwork flesh. “So very, very close.”
Fritz was reminded of his second father then, Randolph Scopa. He used to say the very same thing after each of his painful procedures.
So very close.
Fritz never knew the reason why he was going through what he did other than the fact he was special, and special people had a purpose.
It was after he’d survived the last of his treatments that his father shared with him the secret of why he’d been transformed. According to his father, Fritz was now an agent of the Dark Lords—the rulers of the paradise beyond Earth called Hell.
He was to be an agent of discord, a servant to Hell’s plans for the world of man.
And Fritz believed he had served his masters well.
The blare of a car horn pulled him from his fugue state, and he twisted the wheel violently to the left to avoid an oncoming truck.
The car careened across the road and down into a ditch, plowing through thick underbrush and over the rotted remains of trees. He tried to keep control of the vehicle, but the surface became unsteady, flipping the car onto its side, sliding to a halt between two pine trees.
Fritz immediately began to apologize for his sins, unbuckling his seat belt and practically falling from the vehicle. He looked around the inside of the car and saw that the Cardinal was missing and immediately begin to panic.
Had the Dark Lord been thrown from the vehicle when they crashed through the underbrush and trees?
“My master!” he screamed, forcing himself through the broken windshield and flopping out onto the ground.
He stood, eyes darting about, and found the Cardinal standing a few feet from the overturned car.
“Cardinal,” he said, about to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness.
The demon lord raised a skinless hand.
“It doesn’t matter,” the Cardinal announced.
Fritz wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly.
“Excuse me, lord?” he said.
“I said it doesn’t matter.” The Cardinal turned its skull-like face to him.
“Are you . . . are you well, my liege?” Fritz asked.
“I am, and soon to be more than that,” the demon lord said, now walking farther into the woods toward a clearing. “We are here.”
Fritz did not understand until he started to follow, until he saw what was on the other side of the open expanse.
Scopa House.
The demon lord was right. They were here.
He was home.
• • •
Theo was experiencing the being’s memories, and they were not of Heaven but of Hell.
Theo had joined the demonic hive, allowing her thoughts to be less of the individual and more of the pack.
What a horrible feeling, what a horrible state.
But she needed to know
She had to understand.
They were traveling now, the being taken from the Coalition facility to . . .
Where?
She didn’t know. The creature’s memories and thoughts had not yet reached the present.
She—they—were in the past.
Remembering Hell.
She was nearly overcome with an overpowering sense of nostalgia and homesickness, the demons inside her yearning for what they had lost—from where they’d been taken.
The images were fast, explosions of misery, fear, and torment. She was being made privy to things the human mind was not made to experience.
There was part of her that wanted to run, to escape and hide away, but she needed to look . . . she needed to know what was happening.
From what she could gather, Hell was in turmoil. There was panic in the realm of sorrow.
There was a darkness coming.
Not a darkness
that the denizens of Hell would embrace but one that would consume them all and make it as if they had never been.
Theo experienced their fear as hers.
A fear of nothingness.
A fear of ceasing to be.
Of being erased.
But then there was a light. From out of the hungry void there came a being of glory.
The angel.
Flying above Hell, he spoke to the denizens in a voice like the blaring of trumpets. He told them not to fear what was coming but to embrace it, for God had realized that He had erred and was going to make things right.
Theo recoiled, as the citizens of Hell had. How dare this glowing thing of God speak to them in such a way.
Was this God’s plan? Was the creeping void His way of removing them forever?
Their fear turned to anger, blossoming into rage, and when the angel, still proclaiming his message of surrender, flew too close—
The demons pulled him from the sky.
The angel fought them for as long as he could, but it wasn’t enough. His light was snuffed out, and soon only his battered and burned body remained.
But murdering the messenger had changed nothing. They could still see what was slowly creeping toward them, the very fringes of Hell being slowly, inexorably . . .
Unmade.
Theo understood as the demons did and knew the terror of uncreation.
The infernal understood their situation and knew that something must be done if they were to continue to exist.
The concepts were alien to her, foreign to a rational human mind, but Theo attempted to understand even though it meant losing what little sanity she had remaining.
The minds of Hell set forth with a plan, they would escape the erasure of their world and existence.
They would find another world and make it their own.
The memories were fierce, biting away bloody chunks of her rational human mind. Theo was not sure how much longer she could tolerate being part of them, but she was so very close to understanding.
The memories that followed were difficult to discern, the machinations of Hell far beyond what the human mind was designed to comprehend.
Earth was to be their refuge, and for that to be so, the world of God’s man would need to be prepared.